


Seasons of Love

by zaboraviti



Series: Dancing on the Edge [5]
Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Minor Character Death, Modern AU, because this is very victoria centric, i dreamed a dream, kinda sense and sensibility, seriously he's like very cryptic, silence of a lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 06:48:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13518768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaboraviti/pseuds/zaboraviti
Summary: Victoria Kent is twenty-one. She has a diploma of a prestigious college, a smart older sister, a pushy but caring mother, a light-filled room on the second floor of a Georgian mansion, a vintage piano, a mint green pickup truck and a good-natured dog. Victoria has a wonderful father; he’s caring but stern, a high official at the Ministry of Defense. And Victoria knows as sure as she’s breathing that he will always have her back, always be there for her.





	Seasons of Love

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Seasons of Love](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/354360) by Lady-in-waiting-ss. 



> Author’s note: A sickeningly sentimental drivel, a modern AU of the Sense and Sensibility variety. I don’t even like the book so I have no idea where this came from.
> 
> Translator's note: love doesn't discriminate. death doesn't discriminate. life doesn't discriminate.  
> don't mind her. seriously. i spent three nights on this - you don't think i hate myself or you this much, do you?

_[© Lady Disdain](http://ladydisdainblog.tumblr.com/) _

 

**_September_ **

Victoria Kent is twenty-one. She has a diploma of a prestigious college, a smart older sister, a pushy but caring mother, a light-filled room on the second floor of a Georgian mansion, a vintage piano, a mint green pickup truck and a good-natured dog. Victoria has a wonderful father; he’s caring but stern, a high official at the Ministry of Defense. And Victoria knows as sure as she’s breathing that he will always have her back, always be there for her.

Victoria believes in love. True love, ridiculous love. When she talks about this kind of love, Dora sighs condescendingly. The love that’s not the same as the warm affectionate friendship their parents share — the love that’s overwhelming, all-consuming and eternal and impervious to the ruthless flow of time.

Victoria looks forward to studying English literature at the university. Victoria uses her father’s credit card to buy a gigantic cake for his birthday and picks a dress for the debutante ball.

Victoria kisses her mom on the left cheek and her dad on the right, casually sweeps the microeconomics notes off Dora’s desk and tries in vain to talk her sister into going to a late night party in Soho.

Victoria scratches her sleepy pet behind the ear and climbs out of the window.

Victoria spins to the rhythm of thumping music, allowing an exchange student she knows hold her a little tighter than she should. She beams, she laughs, she tastes vodka on the lips that are not her own. She flutters in the pulsing lights like a tiny carefree moth.

When Victoria finally hears her phone and looks at the screen, it shows ten missed calls. Five from Dora, two from mom, and three from an unfamiliar number. Victoria calls the latter back, without thinking _who?_ but her stomach churns with the horrible foreboding _why?_

The unfamiliar male voice on the other end of the line, rusty and detached, politely introduces its owner. William Lamb, an old friend and colleague of her father’s. She has never heard of him before but she doesn’t care.

She doesn’t remember hailing a cab, she only hears Lamb’s soft well-practiced intonations explaining that her mom is at home half-conscious, and Dora went to fetch their lawyer.

Victoria practically hates him. With respectful and probably rehearsed compassion, not wasting much energy, Lamb informs her that her father is dead.

She does not go back home that night, she goes to the hospital instead but finds only a very tired doctor, an empty bed in the intensive care ward and a note from Lamb. Victoria crumples the piece of paper with a phone number on it, shoves it deep into her jacket pocket and only then finally lets bitter tears fall.

 

**_October_ **

Victoria is still twenty-one but her old life is razed to the ground.

She still has a smart older sister, who is now urgently looking for a job. She still has a mother, whose pushiness and energy dribble away.

Minus _the father._ Minus the pickup truck, the old mansion, the chance to go to the university, the carefree life and comfort. Plus boring cousins with a lawful claim on their mansion, a permanently hysterical mother and the lack of opportunity to leave the house even for ten minutes to walk Dash.

Dora grits her teeth and bears it. Dora puts up with Cousin George who walks around their father’s study with a tape measure and plans to hang a deer’s antlers above the fireplace. Dora puts up with Cousin Ernest, a noisy, cheerful and good-hearted lad who nonetheless cannot help them circumvent the prehistoric inheritance act.

Father’s lawyer only shrugs — Mr. Kent _did_ plan on drawing up a valid well-thought-out will in favor of his wife and daughters but death has outsmarted and outrun him.

Victoria won’t put up with anything. She spits out barbs, half of which George doesn't even get and take in the way she wants him to. She gets in the way of any attempt to start the renovations. She throws fits when Dora asks her to accompany her to look at the new house.

Victoria gets angry, she breaks plates, she loses her voice trying to shake up her listless mother who is even less capable of coping with the stress adequately. Victoria curses the moment when she heard the voice of that... what was his name? William?

 

**_November_ **

As the weather gets colder, their life gets sadder. They are moving out.

Victoria sits in the moving company van, watching in the rearview mirror the house she was born in shrink to a dot at the end of the alley. Wrapped in the tight net of scaffolding, painted a boring grey, it should have stopped feeling so achingly dear a long time ago.

She thinks she is the only one feeling this unbearable yearning. Feodora sits in the back checking the bills for a hundredth time. Thrift, pragmatism,  _gratitude_.

Gratitude to John Conroy is something they will never see from Victoria. He appears out of nowhere, he turns their mother’s head and, in a matter of weeks, she is willing to trust him with her life. And the lives of her girls.

Dora puts up with it, again, although John’s implications that she’d better marry well and get the hell out are often very explicit and very rude. Dora stacks the boxes in the back of the small truck, rushing Victoria, assuring her that they will love the new house too.

Victoria is really glad that their mother finally comes out of her room. But she doesn’t like that every step their mother takes is for Conroy alone.

The new house is picture perfect — if the picture is printed in a cheap real estate brochure. A great place to raise kids under five, green lawns, peace and quiet, and brightly colored swings. Victoria knows she was born for bigger things — for clamorous city life and great accomplishments. That’s what her dad always used to say. That’s what happened to the heroines of all her favorite books.

Victoria learns how to use a washing machine and warm up food without a microwave. She takes longs walks with Dash in the small park, sketches every day and she has no intention to let Conroy’s smug face take roots in their new, albeit pretty pathetic house.

Still, Conroy keeps circling their mother. And when the first snow falls at the end of the month, Victoria notices a narrow platinum band on her mother’s ring finger. She is far from ecstatic but filial affection keeps her sizzling indignation in check.

That day is the first and the last time Victoria swallows her pride but she does it without much finesse. John detects the resentment coming off his future stepdaughter and intercepts her in the hall to talk a couple of days later.

She finds it staggering — how he revels in his own delusion. How confidently he pressures her, as if she were a little child, as if he or even her mother held some kind of real power over her.

Victoria has always known that she was born for adventure. For freedom. For true romance. And she is reckless enough to just up and leave at any moment but she really doesn’t want to abandon her mother and sister.

Victoria makes gibes and sees a simmering desire to hit her in Conroy’s eyes. For a moment, she is scared but she stubbornly shakes up her clothes, checking the pockets before throwing them in the wash.

A scrap of paper falls out of the thin leather jacket and John catches and unfolds it. He snickers. He laughs, dangling the note before her nose, saying that even if Victoria has one powerful friend it doesn’t mean she can defy John.

She snatches the note out of his hand with a fury she didn’t expect from herself.

“That’s my business.”

Victoria slams the door into John’s face and tries to smooth out the crumpled expensive paper. A phone number and three lines in a neat handwriting.

_I couldn’t wait for you — an urgent phone call._

_If you need anything, call me any time._

_William Lamb_

She remembers fuming and wanting to forget every little thing about that dreadful evening. Wanting to throw out this note. Swearing she will never turn to this messenger of grief for any kind of help.

Victoria keeps the note. She hides it between her phone and its case.

Just to spite Conroy.

 

**_December_ **

Dash loves snow, and there is so much snow this year. He burrows into the snow up to his ears, disappearing from sight, to resurface on the other end of the park. Ideally, the one most inhabited by squirrels.

In other words, her furry-tailed friend doesn’t mind prolonged walks outdoors at all. And she is more and more reluctant to go home.

Conroy officially moves in with them at the beginning of the month, blessing their lives not only with his own snotty presence but also with the presence of the most boring sixteen-year-old creature, Victoria’s namesake. Mother melts into a puddle, playing a great champion of all orphans, and here on in refers to her own daughter only as _Drina_.

 _Drina_ finds a part-time job at a library — closer to books, away from the rapidly growing crazy family. Dora goes to the City every morning; she wears snow-white blouses and dark woolen suits, consumes coffee in gallons, works on weekends and says nothing to her mother or John, who are obviously happy with the arrangement. John pompously talks about his career in finance, sits on Forex, walks his daughter to the local hellhole of a school and saves up for a useless fancy car. Mother enjoys the quiet life of a provincial homemaker, assuring everyone that “this is all she has ever wanted”.

Victoria wraps herself in an enormous scarf and makes acquaintance with all hot tea vendors in the park. For three hours a day, she breathes in the inimitable smell of dusty pages, arranging volumes of Voltaire and Wilde on the shelves. Back at home, she is greeted by insistent requests to “entertain sweet baby Victoria”. It’s no use reasoning that only pretty boys from soap operas can entertain “sweet baby Victoria”. Victoria Conroy is treated as the infant of the house, Victoria Kent — as a spoiled irresponsible child.

Every day Victoria waits for something to change.

She is walking home from the park, and it’s the week before Christmas, she has Sinatra in her earphones and the taste of seasonal ginger latte on her lips. There is a hint of commotion in the nauseatingly even row of neat suburban houses. She’s barely turned into her street when she hears whispers of single mothers. There is a new tenant moving into the house “across the Kents”.

Dash doesn’t understand gossip but the general agitation is contagious. He bolts so quickly that Victoria has to run to keep up with him.

She can see a big van, movers bustling in and out, and then she hears a teasing laugh. Dash likes the new neighbors. He likes the taste of the long braided cable scarf that belongs to Miss Alison Melbourne, a big-eyed energetic girl of about fifteen.

Victoria catches Dash and gets caught herself, the bait being a ton of childish charm, a barrage of questions and ready wit. When the conversation laced with laughter and mutual affection drifts to the subject of Dash’s rich pedigree, the icy air is broken by a sudden third voice.

“Alison, stop pestering our new neighbors. There will be time for that, I promise.”

This voice, hoarse but vigorous… accustomed to being obeyed. Victoria can’t believe her ears, blaming it on the memories confused by shock. There is no way that William Lamb, a callous ministry official, is in any way related to Frederick Melbourne, a biology professor who wears cardigans, raises a teenage daughter and snorts in amusement at the attempts of the local divorcees to tempt the still attractive widower with a bowl of shepherd’s pie.

Conroy takes an instant dislike to Frederick and his daughter — unlike Victoria’s mother who believes them to be a very good company “for all children in this house”. Under this banner, “sweet baby Victoria” and _Drina_ accompany their new neighbors to London’s galleries and museums every day until the holidays.

Professor Melbourne actually knows a lot and tells them about the pictures in the National Gallery as though he worked there for a decade. Victoria is the only one of them not bored by the cultural pursuits but she still gratefully takes up the younger girls’ suggestion and the group hits Christmas sales. Melbourne gives up after fifteen minutes at the makeup counter. He asks — almost begs — Victoria to keep an eye on his daughter and promises to meet them later at Piccadilly Circus.

She suddenly realizes how readily and easily he passes the responsibility to her. How he has been talking to her as his equal this whole time, not once giving her a reason to believe that he sees her as one of the children.

Victoria watches the girls like a hawk the entire evening, because this unexpected ally is still better than no ally. She can’t let him down, she can’t betray his trust.

Melbourne is well-versed in an awful lot of stuff, she realizes at Christmas. He sits in their living room with a plate of Christmas turkey, discussing something so cerebral and so very economics-related that Victoria wouldn’t be able to pronounce it correctly on the first try. But her sister looks relaxed and happy for the first time in the last few months. What more could Victoria wish for?

She thinks for a moment that he is actually not that old. He could marry Feodora if Feodora had any interest in her own personal life. Twenty years’ difference — is it a lot?

Dash jumps off her lap and runs across the room to attack the last of Melbourne’s turkey and then the pom-pom on his sweater — the red nose of the embroidered reindeer. Victoria laughs and stands up to shoo the dog away, thinking how dumb it is to just assume that Melbourne could be interested in a much younger woman. He is too smart and serious for this kind of drama, isn’t he?

She won’t tell Dora about her silly fantasy. She already thinks that Victoria lives with her head in the clouds.

When the evening ends and John sends the guests on their way in his usual dickhead manner, Victoria is up on her feet again — to apologize and wrap some cake for Alison.

She bumps into Frederick in the kitchen doorway.

“I wanted to thank you for the evening again,” he smiles. “I… considering how hard this year has been for you, I hope you will be very lucky in the new one.”

She is lost for a second, taken aback by his sudden intense sincerity. She nods, flashing a smile back.

“Look, mistletoe!”

Alison laughs as if it is the funniest thing she has ever heard. Victoria’s ears burn, and everything is a green blur — the whole world is suddenly the color of Melbourne’s coat. He is close enough that she can hear him sigh heavily.

“It’s right above our heads, isn’t it?” he asks in a low voice.

Victoria lifts her head. There it is, the crooked nail in the pale stem, a clear indication that this is John’s doing. He is the master of corniest and cheapest “romantic” stunts.

She shifts her gaze, meeting the greenest eyes she has ever seen. And she’ll be damned if single professors are allowed to stare like this at girls only a few years older than their own daughters.

The Melbournes leave and miraculously manage to stay out of her sight in the next couple of weeks.

Dora is right. She does live with her head in the clouds.  _He couldn’t, he shouldn’t have stared at her lips. Even for a fraction of a second._

These thoughts haunt Victoria until the end of the year. She is relieved that they don’t invite anyone to celebrate the New Year’s Eve.

 

**_January_ **

The start of the new year is a slow stretch of sluggish days. Victoria still walks for hours in the park, then goes to the library — this way she at least doesn’t have to ask Dora for money.

She thinks that she has come to terms with it.

Nothing disturbs their routine, except maybe for occasional gossip about the neighbors.

No one has seen Frederick Melbourne this entire month. The rumor has it that he is on a business trip in Manchester and his daughter is staying with his sister in London.

Victoria is desperately bored. TV says that a terrorist act has been averted at the Parliament, a baby giraffe has been born at the London Zoo, and the snow is expected to melt by mid-February.

Dora keeps commuting to the City early in the morning. Mother keeps calling Victoria _Drina._

Victoria rereads _Jane Eyre_ wishing something interesting would happen to her.

****

**_February_ **

She has always loved Valentine’s Day. For one thing, the legend behind this holiday is so beautiful. The whole town can drown in the cheesy heart garlands for all she cares, but the heart of Valentine’s Day will be the same.

She skates in the park when the much-expected thaw dips her into the icy water and fate finally gives her the romance of her dreams.

Albert Coburg fishes her out of the pond, takes her home, warms her up with hot tea and comes by every day after that.

He talks about the benefits of cold water conditioning, and she thinks that he is uncannily smart — the kind of smart she has never had the chance to be.

Albert finds out that she loves books and launches into lengthy discussions of Shakespeare. He is an expert on German authors and Victoria hangs on his every word.

Albert is a graduate sociology student. Albert is fond of Dickens, which is terribly cute, although Victoria used to yawn in class when they studied the celebrated writer.

Albert talks tirelessly about how he will first save whales, then the entire planet.

And this is perfect. This is exactly what she needs.

Victoria kisses him on the scratchy mustache, she still has the cold but she is very determined.

Albert shows up again the next day, with flowers, and then invites her to an old steam trains exhibition.

Feodora laughs and says that she doesn’t understand what Victoria sees in him. Nor does Victoria. But Albert’s ideas and the way he talks about them is something new, something she has been waiting for a long time. After the months of stagnant life among suburban housewives, Albert is a breath of fresh air.

He doesn’t use social networks, he wears only ethical brands and has avocado toasts for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Dora calls him a hipster once and he pouts, adorably, muttering something about rejecting socially imposed labels.

He is the brightest, the most exciting thing that has happened to her in the last six months. It doesn’t take her long to decide that she is head over heels in love.

Alison doesn’t like Albert one bit; she defiantly bites into steak every time they happen to have dinner in the same company. Her father’s face gives away no indication of what he really thinks about Albert, although Melbourne does reprimand the girl for her behavior.

No, Victoria doesn’t give a damn about his opinions… But it would be nice if they were friends again, like they used to be… Before Christmas.

 

**_March_ **

The spring brings warmth, and more dates and more kisses.

Victoria takes out her easel and goes back to the park. She paints trees, birds, and Dash. But mostly Albert. Her room is drowning in sketches of varying resemblance, and Dora says that this looks more and more like a creepy obsession.

Victoria is annoyed. Dora just envies her sister’s happiness.

“Keep your nose out of my life and take care of your own! Why don’t you go and… discuss integrals with Professor Melbourne?” she shoots once, fuming, after Dora has the audacity to say that Albert does not look very interested in her.

“Melbourne?” snorts Dora. “I’m sorry to say that but you’re even a bigger idiot than I thought.”

They don’t talk for another two weeks.

Victoria’s cheeks blush against her will every time she meets Frederick’s eyes.

 

**_April_ **

Dora is still mad at her and none of Victoria’s childhood tricks work on her — not her favorite pie, not the puppy dog eyes. Dora remains unyielding, and their mother and stepfather remain slightly insane, as always.

Albert tries to talk her into quitting her library job because by working there she supports deforestation. Victoria finds that this is a bit too much and they have their first fight.

She trudges home from the coffeehouse in a foulest mood when she remembers her promise to Alison to drop by and help with her school essay.

The Melbournes’ door is locked. Victoria knocks and rings the doorbell but nobody answers. She should go, that’s the sensible thing to do. But her bad mood finds a way out in the form of mulish obstinacy.

She walks around the house to check if the garage is locked too and runs into someone in the dark.

Her ears ring from the impact. Victoria backs away but her wrists are suddenly caught, clasped tight and pulled forward, into the light of the street lamp.

“Ah, it’s you, Miss Kent,” she hears the painfully familiar voice sigh.

He is different. And he is the same. Frederick Melbourne without his usual cardigan is a miracle of miracles, as she would have said once. Frederick Melbourne in the field uniform is an impressive and surprisingly appropriate sight.

And the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle come together.

“Where is Alison?” asks Victoria, amazed how calm she sounds.

“She’s left. She-” he pauses but meets her gaze and apparently decides that it’s alright to tell her. “She’s been handed over to a different officer.”

“Is she...?”

“Witness protection. I doubt you will ever see each other again. But she is perfectly safe, I assure you.”

 _Now_ she can see it. Now she can feel the crisp rhythm of his words, now she realizes that he has too perfect a posture for a professor. And the fingers still wrapped around her wrists are really strong.

And the uniform really suits him.

She feels the urge to fill the silence.

“Are you leaving too?” Victoria nods at the duffle bag on his shoulder.

“Yes, I am, Victoria,” he confirms softly.

Suddenly, Melbourne flinches, jerking his hands away, a heavy crease forming between his eyebrows.

“I don’t have to tell you, Miss Kent, that everything you have just heard is not meant for your ears, not to mention anyone else’s, do I?”

He turns away from her to throw his bag into the boot of his car. Unable to restrain herself, Victoria touches his tense shoulder. He jumps, as though the touch of her hand is burning him.

“Of course I’m not telling anyone... Mr. Lamb?” she says when their eyes meet again, the questioning intonation creeping into her voice against her will.

He shakes his head, chuckling.

“Your father always used to say you were exceptionally quick-witted.”

For a few seconds, his fingers hover by the strand of hair that fell out of her bun. He puts his hand in his pocket.

“Don’t give in to self-pity, Miss Kent. Don’t let this sleepy little place define you. You are worth so much more.”

The boot of the car slams shut.

William Lamb drives away, leaving Victoria before she has a chance to get to know him properly.

And she realizes with sinking bitterness that she is not at all sure if she will ever see him again. And that she doesn’t know how dangerous his life is now.

****

**_May_ **

She flips her lid. That’s what Dora says, that’s what mom says, and even John admits that she is outweirding herself.

Victoria goes to job interviews looking for a decent internship. Victoria spends more and more time at the library, determined to get an educational grant.

Victoria tells Albert that everything has to get more serious. He invites her to a Kafka reading night.

On her birthday, she almost literally kicks everybody out of the house. She takes Albert up to her room, kisses him vehemently and resolutely and undresses him, promising that he is not “betraying Mrs. Kent’s trust” at all.

Victoria spends the night with him, convincing herself that this is as it should be. She is moving on. She is in a great stable relationship. She loves him, this savior of whales, this engine of progress, this wonderful profound thinker who can and does recite Shakespeare’s sonnets from memory without expression but knowing the meaning of every metaphor.

Albert leaves in the morning. She never sees him again.

Dora is still angry but she helps Victoria call around their mutual friends and acquaintances, dorms and hospitals of the city. Nobody knows where Albert has disappeared to.

Victoria doesn’t know when it all went to hell.

 

**_June_ **

She probably wallows in anguish. Victoria locks herself up in her room filled with the images of his face drawn by her own hand, rummaging through the memories again and again, trying to figure out what she did wrong.

Her heart aches and yearns, broken, crushed.

She goes to London for her internship, just because it’s too late to cancel.

She stays at her aunt’s, tortures the out of tune piano, goes to work and just doesn’t get it, she doesn’t understand a thing.

Every night she dials Albert’s number, and every night _the number you are trying to reach is not available._ Every night she dreams about William Lamb telling her that she is worth so much more than this.

 

**_July_ **

Her internship is about to end, and Victoria wonders how she has even managed to make friends, these people who invite her to a party. She has been so apathetic all these weeks — who in their right mind would be willing to tolerate her for a whole night?

Champagne and the too high heels make her head spin. So does the view across the room.

Albert.

Albert in a bespoke suit. Albert with a social smile on his lips. Albert with an elegant blonde on his arm. A clean-shaven Albert. And it’s not a spinach smoothie in his glass.

He sees her. He catches her somewhere around the taxi stand.

“You do realize that dreams are one thing and real life is another?” his eyes are pleading. “I had no choice. I am not free to decide for myself.”

“Dreams are one thing. And pretending to be someone you’re not is another,” Victoria says coldly.

Albert shakes his head and says something else, but she doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter which of the two Alberts is real. The problem is how easily he changes his shape and color with circumstances.

How bloody convenient. Practical, Dora would say.

She will not take a taxi to her aunt’s house, she will get on a shuttle bus. Victoria is going home, although she hardly has the heart to call that place her home.

It turns out that the bus stop is three blocks away and she has to walk for about twenty minutes. She has to walk carefully.

She has to mind her step, despite the stupid uncontrollable tears.

She doesn’t.

 

**_August_ **

She sees weird dreams. There are many familiar faces, contorted and scary. Everything is spinning and she is falling. And she is drowning in the cold dead glow of headlights.

The first thing Victoria feels is the terrible pain in the entire left side of her body. Then she feels the warmth of a dry hand leaving her palm. The warmth shifts to her forehead, and she struggles to open her eyes.

The room around her is blurry, but two bright spots stick in her memory, the brilliant green of two shining eyes.

Someone says something, her ears buzz but she is almost sure that the voice called the doctor, because the latter shows up almost immediately.

And the green eyes disappear for many days. The world grows sharper, and her sister’s and mother’s hugs get tighter. Her ribs heal slowly but without complications. John Conroy brings her fruits every other day looking sincerely worried… a little bit.

Dora comes to read for her, but Victoria notices the shining diamond on the slender finger, and Dan Brown is forgotten. It suddenly occurs to Victoria that with all her boredom, whining and shallow drama, she never really asked her sister about her life. But she has plenty of time now, doesn’t she?

Her bruises fade, her bones get stronger. Finally, Victoria is discharged.

She knows it was William who found her. He found her because he had been following her from that party, where she seemed to be oblivious to everything but her wounded ego and that asshole Albert. What she doesn’t know is why he won’t come and see her. It worries her. She needs this.

Victoria wants to thank him. Victoria wants to apologize for the coldness she showed him in return for his kindness and courtesy. Victoria… doesn’t really know what exactly she wants but she does know that this need is fueled by all of her heart’s passion.

She is thrilled that he is still alive, that he has survived that place he was going to as she watched him go. Whatever it was, it definitely wasn’t a tea party with the Queen. She is afraid he will disappear for months again.

And it all drags on, like a slow and viscous hot summer night sprinkled with the anticipation of something beautiful and the fear of missing the chance.

Then, one fine day she goes through the hospital box containing the things she had on her at the time of the accident.

Victoria remembers.

It’s still there. Under the flimsy plastic of the cracked phone case, she finds the folded piece of heavy paper torn out of an expensive notebook.

Her fingers tap on the touchscreen, and the words, awkward and hurried, fly off to the recipient.

He is walking out of the meeting room, his shoulders set straight in the dress uniform, his fingers loosening the knot of his tie, his head full of completely unrelated thoughts.

 _Please come, I need to talk to you ASAP. Victoria_  

Fear hits him, as if he has just received a nuclear alert text. He runs as fast as he can.

Colonel William Lamb gets more speeding tickets that night than he has in his entire lifetime.

He bursts into her tiny house, and it’s so surprisingly quiet and it feels so empty that for a moment, about three hundred horrible scenarios flash through William’s head.

And then Victoria flies to him and jumps at him and falls on him, skipping the remaining half a dozen steps between her and the foot of the stairs.

She falls on him like a storm and she kisses him, with desperate hunger, suddenly realizing that she has never experienced anything more romantic in her life — but she probably will.

Victoria Kent is twenty-two and she is being kissed by a man who practices what he preaches.


End file.
